Sky in the Deep(19)

“Can you show me how to do that?” Halvard watched me from the edge of the loft with sleepy eyes and hair standing up around his head. He slid down the ladder in only his pants and the memory of a young Iri pushed its way back into my mind, barefoot and dirty-faced.

I rubbed the heel of my palm against my chest, as if it might erase it.

I looked away, turning toward Inge. She was sifting the grain into a bowl, her eyes narrowing on me. “Can you please heat the water?”

I found the kettle and when I turned around, Halvard was standing next to me, holding out his hand. Inge watched us as I gave him the kettle and he hopped down from the edge of the fire pit. He fit his fingers into the grooves of one of the flat stones that made up the floor and lifted it up carefully. There, beneath the stone, water was running in a dug-out channel under the house.

I’d never seen anything like it. He looked up at me proudly, using a cup to fill the kettle, and handed it back to me, smiling. Inge poured the grain out onto a large hot cooking stone, toasting it with a wooden paddle. The house filled with the warm nutty smell and my stomach pinched with hunger.

Iri and Fiske stirred above us and Inge smiled, shaking her head. “Like bears in the winter,” she muttered.

Halvard set out wooden bowls and Inge filled them with the grain before pouring the hot water over them. Iri and Fiske climbed down the ladder, their hair unbound and faces drawn with sleep. Iri scratched at his jaw as he sat down, his eyes squinted against the light.

Halvard scooted over on the bench to make another seat but Inge took the fifth bowl and handed it to me. “Over there.” She nodded toward the corner by the door.

I looked into the bowl, the heat lighting in my cheeks. Iri gave her a look, but she ignored him. Why should she let a dyr sit at the table? She didn’t trust me. She shouldn’t trust me. And why did I care? I didn’t want to sit with them.

I picked up a stool, setting it down hard on the stone and sat with my bowl in my lap, taking a bite of the grains. My lip still stung fiercely, but I was hungry enough not to care.

“I’ll take Runa and the Aska to gather the yarrow for Adalgildi. You’re both needed to bring in the ale from the mountainside cellar,” she said, glancing up to Iri and Fiske.

Fiske stared at her, his spoon hovering over his bowl.

She looked at me before meeting his eyes. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

“What about me?” Halvard spoke through a mouth full of food.

Inge smiled. “You can come with us, sváss.”

I listened as they made plans for the day, dividing up responsibilities. When Inge stood, she leaned down to kiss Iri on the cheek, running a hand through his hair. It set my teeth on edge. A spark, threatening to eat up the dry, angry parts of me. As she passed Fiske, she did the same and they both relaxed under her touch, leaning into her. Fiske and Iri were grown men, hardened by battle, but they were soft with her.

I faced the wall as I finished eating, unable to stomach it. I didn’t remember as much of my mother as Iri had. We lived most of our lives with only our father, but I didn’t like Inge touching him. I didn’t like the tenderness between them. Inge acting like Iri’s mother was an insult, but Iri acting like Inge’s son was blasphemy.

My fist tightened around my spoon as I took my last bite and I stood, washing my bowl and returning it to the crate Halvard pulled them from. Iri met my eyes as he ducked out the door behind Fiske—a warning to behave.

I leaned into the wall and waited as Inge lifted two large leather-handled baskets up onto the table and took two pairs of iron shears from the wall. If she wanted me to eat in the corner like a goat, I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help her.

Behind me, the door swung opened and Runa came in, brushing snowflakes from her dark hair and her skirt. She was bundled up in a wool wrap, her cheeks flushed pink.

When she smiled, her full lips stretched over straight white teeth. “Good morning.”

“Runa!” Halvard ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her gaze lifted to me, moving over my face to my shoulder. As soon as they landed on the dyr collar, her eyes flitted away. “You look better.” She held out a green wool cloak in her arms. “I brought this for you.”

I stared at it.

“For the cold.” She pushed it toward me.

Halvard took it from her and shoved it into my arms. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”

Inge came around the table with the hood of her own cloak pulled up over her head. She handed one basket to me and slid the other onto her hip.

They walked side by side with Halvard running ahead and me following behind. We followed the path through the houses and I watched out of the corner of my eye, taking note again of how the village was laid out. Between Inge’s house and the ritual house, a row of houses lined the path, except for the blacksmith’s tent and what looked like the village cellar. The wooden door was set into a rocky cliff face.

At the last house on the path, a man stood with his son and daughter before an elk strung up from a tree. Its black, empty eyes seemed to follow me as I walked, its tongue hanging from its mouth. The man lifted his knife, showing the boy where to cut. Behind them, a woman gathered eggs into her apron. She watched me, clutching the hem of her skirt tighter in her hands.

As we made our way out of the village, the trail grew thicker, overrun by the forest. We stepped carefully into footsteps that were already punched into the snow and climbed farther up. The village looked small from above, the dark wooden structures nestled together with smoke lifting up from the rooftops.